Gunnar stayed for a few more moments, listening to the byplay, now that he was satisfied nothing truly (and darkly) interesting was occurring. And now, the young kindred's fury about sires, and embracing became more clear, as he spoke further. "I will help you resolve this matter of your past Marcus, and without asking for recompense - all you must do is ask," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"As for the rest of you - may your evening treat you well," Gunnar said to the rest of the curious Kindred here with a nod, as he once again resumed his original course.

_________________"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

Marcus's eyebrow raised at the word "Juvenis", and he studied Lydia's face for her meaning. Yet if she had meant an insult by calling him such, she gave absolutely no sign. Perhaps this was some sort of refined joke way above his (metaphorical) head. Perhaps it had been meant honestly. Gunnar suggested he need only ask for his assistance, an offer that Marcus had no intention of taking at face value, but filed away for the moment.

She asked who he was looking for, and that was a dangerous question if ever there had been one. But he was going to get nowhere by hiding the target of his search, and it was time to begin looking in earnest, that he might eventually cross Constantinopolis off of the list of places that might be harboring his hated sire.

"The one I seek is named Marcus Perpenna Vento," he said, his tongue catching ever so slightly as he pronounced the poisonous name. "He is - " another pause, "he... was... my sire, though what name he goes by now or where he might be, I do not know. I do not know if he is here, or if he even lives in these nights, but..." he stopped again, closing his eyes and swallowing the private objections that rose to the surface. "... but until I know otherwise, I must seek him."

_________________Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

Through the darkened streets and fetid shadows, finally a flickering of life was made clear through the stone halls, along with the smell of livestock, only somewhat more bearable than the citizens themselves. Helgi made special note to keep close to the pens, watching others that the animals might have an adverse reaction to. The All-Father’s gift with the creatures of the world was one he shared, but not all vargr did, and should he be followed already by some mud-eel, the livestock might well give him warning enough to draw his blade.

There was more to his eye on the beasts than that of tracking his prey, of course. Knowing what animals are in abundance within the walls of this stone city could have uses, and providing his fellow kinsfolk with a boar ready for the spit is a long proven method of gaining entrance into a hall. Perhaps he would return here in the morning to rest, assuming no more appealing locations revealed themselves. Still, he continued on, marching on to the lights of commerce, where perhaps Tolli or Olaf could be found, and barring that some of his countrymen to aid a lost brother in this city that claims to be the center of civilization.

Helgi drew looks and whispers as he passed through the broad street and the shop porticoes. His great height and obvious foreignness were not disguised, but not so alien or threatening to draw fear instead of curiosity. This was the city of the Varangian Guard and here the men of the north were seen as doughty warriors, fighting alongside the Roman armies and famed for their bravery and prowess. Helgi was sure that several of the women were giving him admiring looks.

A call came to his ears. "By Odin's beard and the White Christ," said a man in Norse, "you have the look of a champion."

The speaker was a man in his middle years, with ruddy skin and more grey than gold in his beard. He was as tall as most of the Romans, but stockier. He was dressed in the local manner, wearing a long tunic, as well as pants. Both were clean and of good cloth. Gold and silver glinted on his fingers, his ears, and on the heavy torc around is neck. Men who had his look, but much fewer years and fewer rings, stood beside him.

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

"Marcus Perpenna Vento," Lydia repeated thoughtfully. She noted how hard it was simply for Marcus to speak the name, and how reluctant he was to request any help whatsoever. "I fear I do not know anyone by that name. Have you spoken to the Lasombra elders within the city, Postumus?"

The pacing and flow of Norse was considered by many to be akin to that of poetry and song, and truly here it was music to the ears of the mountain, Odin’s name, despite the mention of Hvítakristr next to it, caused him to turn to the wellspring of his native tongue with a hearty smile beneath his well-kept beard. In the language he was greeted, he returned with a bellowing laugh. “Hail, friend! It is a welcome sound to hear the northern tongue again. And to hear such approbation from a man who has all the bearing and stature of a Jarl brings with it a weight to it that brings me much joy. My name is Helgi Ognherdi, and I have only just arrived, hoping to quench my thirst with some mead. Would you and your men care to join me, and we can share tales of our glorious victories that would make the wicked tremble and the righteous rejoice from here to Valhalla?”

"Gladly," replied the big man, "but unfortunately business demands I remain here. I am Olaf Svenson, trader in spices, ivory, furs, and amber and I still have to relieve these Greeks of their coin. But fear not, you are on the right path to a fine meadhall frequented by many of our folk. Keep going towards the palace and then turn when you see the sign of the crowing rooster. A hundred more steps will take you to the doors of the Golden Boar where good mead and fine Greek wine flow freely and the sturdy warriors of the Varangian Guard hold their revels."

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

"Marcus Perpenna Vento," Lydia repeated thoughtfully. She noted how hard it was simply for Marcus to speak the name, and how reluctant he was to request any help whatsoever. "I fear I do not know anyone by that name. Have you spoken to the Lasombra elders within the city, Postumus?"

With a soft sigh, Marcus shook his head. "I have not," he said. "My experience has been that if I did ask them for Perpenna's whereabouts, the elders of my clan would demand an enormous boon from me in exchange for what they knew, upon payment of which they would regretfully inform me that they know nothing of Perpenna, but that they wish me the best of luck in finding him. It was thus in Neapolis and Thessalonica."

The fact that if Perpenna was alive, that he might well be one of the elders in question, was of course another reason, but that one Marcus kept to himself. He had no desire to draw more attention than necessary to his own antiquity, not in these nights when diablerists roamed the streets in increasing numbers the further east one traveled.

He decided to change the subject, still manifestly conscious of Noemi, fast asleep on the church steps behind him. Rather than glance back every few seconds like some terrified burgher being chased by pickpockets, he stepped back and sat down on the steps beside Noemi, the better to ensure that no Obfuscate-related insanity transpired while he was distracted by one vampire or another.

"Forgive me, Domina," he said in the tone of one who did not care overmuch if he was forgiven, but felt it necessary to observe the proper formalities, "but... if you are the scion of a noble Greek house, what brings you here? This is a Latin district, and a poor one." It was possible of course that she was here to feed, and that was nothing to him, but if there was some other subtext at work here, he would prefer to know of it."

"And... as to this girl and her mother," he said, turning his eyes back to the Merchant who had begun all this, "Before I undertake to guide you to the home of two mortals I have promised to protect," (the reminder could not hurt), "I would know who it is I am undertaking to guide. If this is your territory, then who are you?"

_________________Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

"An apt request. I am Adrianus, the local people have difficulty with my surname and simply call me Brugge 'of Brugge' in its place..."

Adrianus was not sure what Marcus might know Flanders by, there are a few possibilities. Belgic Gaul, Flandria, or just Flanders, as he had no idea how much access to maps a possible Roman might have in this age. Still, unless he had been hiding under a rock since the Fall of Rome, he would likely know the area as Flanders

"Which is a city in Flanders. I started off as a cloth merchant, and expanded by business considerably, until the Cosmos contrived to force me to...relocate." He wondered for a moment how much to tell about his clan. The Tremere did not have a reputation that was particularly good, especially among the high clans. The only reason they had not been wiped out was because they were very good at making themselves useful, which would never gain them admittance into the higher ranks. At least not until certain Viovodes were out of the way and their power taken. Still, the question had, albeit implicitly been asked, and it did not seem as if this particular individual cared much for politics in any case.

"I am of the Tremere, which should come as no shock. Only an Upstart with pretensions above their station would contrive to set themselves up as a proper burgher lord over their tenants." he said with a bit of a grin, and he voice tone that only came with self-conscious humor.

"Still, I find the arrangement enhances my long term futures. More safety and prosperity means higher rent, happy productive workers, and better all around business prospects, and that is just locally. That, and I have a certain affection for working-people. So, suffice to say, your clients are in no danger from me. I only feed on the productive when no other options are available, and if that happens, it does not harm me to exclude two from consideration."

_________________"Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution."- Theodosius Dobzhansky

There is no word harsh enough for this. No verbal edge sharp and cold enough to set forth the flaying needed. English is to young and the elder languages of the earth beyond me. ~Frigid

By the time that he had arrived on the first floor the feeling of dread still clawed at him. It took a great deal of mental energy for him to force himself to resist the urge to flee. As he reached the first floor the dread reached a fever pitch. His head turned from side to side as he drank in his surroundings. He saw activity all around him, panic in the eyes of some and determination on others. He had barely crossed across the room and approached a guard when the doors that led to his home were opened. It was a violation, there was no other way to describe the breach into a world that he had crafted in his own image. His eyes focused on the intruders as they breached into the ante-chamber which served as a transition leading into the waiting space that he and some of his remaining guards and servants occupied. The majority of his guards had been outside his home and if they had been overcome then the situation was dire indeed.

Who are they?

His eyes slid over the intruders as they poured into his home an icy rage momentarily dispelling the fear that had descended upon him taking notice of the state of the men that had sworn their service to him and he in turn had been in charge of their safety. His eyes flickered over the men and the sole woman that he could perceive. There was something about the pale young man and the kindred next to him. The torches were impossible to miss and their presence only reinforced the dread within him. For a handful of heart beats he considered his situation. He could charge the mob, kill some of these invaders and fight. The end result of that choice was all but readily apparent to him. He could not fight them without tapping into his reserves of vitae and even now he knew those reserves were not at full strength. He would be fighting at a disadvantage and in doing so, he would reveal his nature to guards and servants that did not know his secret. He had attempted to keep that a secret to all but his retainers and of course members of his herd. He had taken great pains to present himself as an eccentric artist who was inspired to work beneath the moonlight. Fighting here would dispel the lie that he had so carefully crafted over so many years.

I am trapped.

He could fight and die or he could flee and allow these two their victory. Could his honor support a defeat of this magnitude? His left hand squeezed the scabbard at his side, his fingers turning white until the man with the wild eyes pointed his torch towards him and the crowd responded. He gritted his teeth and made his choice.

"Dorado!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. A sound full of anger and naked grief. It was a word that had both meaning and power to the men and women within La Perla. Within a few seconds, the call was repeated on the second floor and beyond. The word indicated his imminent retreat from his home and alerted those within the premises to evacuate La Perla as best as they could. He wasted little time in running away from the entrance even as the handful of guards in the first floor sought to facilitate his escape. He moved with surprising quickness but it was not enhanced by supernatural powers. He moved across the room and through a door which was closed behind him. It led to a side room and then to a series of stairs which led below. Only when he was certain that there was no one within sight of him did he seek to harness his blood and tapped his gifts. La Perla had been built with a series of tunnels which had been added as potential ways of entering and exiting. Akin to the castles of old which had been built with secret passages, La Perla's inhabitants now sought to utilize the known passages. Only Ignacio knew them all as four separate architects had been involved in their construction.

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

The very word brought a frown to Marcus' face, though not for the reasons any might suspect. It was a matter of memory and history.

Tied to Perpenna as an ornament (at best), Marcus had never been the most political of vampires, and Kindred society had not held much interest to him, neither before nor after his extended nap. Yet that said, the revelation that in his absence, the entire Salubri clan had been rendered extinct at the hands of a group of hedge wizards-turned-mystery cult had been a shock. Marcus had known precious few vampires back then, (kindred or kine, slaves were still slaves, and not worth knowing), but by chance, or fate, or the machinations of Fortuna, one of them had been Salubri.

What her name was, Marcus never knew, a Numidian or so he assumed, whom he'd encountered on the streets of the Esquiline, barely six months after his embrace, back when he'd still been a child in mind as well as body. Half-starved from Perpenna's willful neglect, abjured by bloodbond from hunting kine on his own (Perpenna seemed to enjoy his hunger pangs), and sent on yet another degrading errand to the lowest slums of Rome, he'd encountered her in an alley where he had finally, in desperation, been reduced to tracking rats through the garbage of the local insulae. How she'd found him there, and why, and for what purpose, he did not know. What he did know was that she had done him two great kindnesses at a time when no other thing, alive or dead, was inclined to do so. Firstly she had given him blood, of provenance unknown and unasked, and done so without asking for anything in return, a gift that, to a perpetually half-starved child-vampire was like the breath of life itself. She had asked him many questions, as to his name and clan and history, but told him nothing in return of herself, and he'd not had the wit to ask. Accepting unknown blood from an unknown Kindred was, of course, incredibly dangerous, he knew that now, and had even half-known it then, but starved as he was, weak as he was, he'd simply not had the strength within him to refuse.

And that led to the second gift, that of Dignitas. Never once did she frame her gift as charity, patronizing or otherwise. The compassion he could read in all three of her eyes never reached her words, not then, and not on the rare occasions when, tortured by hunger beyond the breaking point, he had found his way back to her subterranean lair in the Esquiline. It was the blood she gave him, untouched by sorcery or bond, that more than once enabled him to (barely) stave off frenzy, and to resist the further degradations that Perpenna had in store for his vampire slave. It was also her stories, the ones she told him seemingly without purpose, of vampire-mystics and hero-cults of the East that first planted in him the seed of the notion that it might be possible to transcend even a blood bond with proper dedication. Her none-too-subtle comment that it would require someone with "the will of a Roman" to break free from such constraints had not seemed so funny when he was a starving child desperate to be released from his own private Tartarus. And she had possessed the infinite kindness to treat his clumsy, halting efforts to somehow repay her for her generosity with errands run or information obtained as seriously as though he were some mighty elder whose boons were worth a thousand talents of gold.

Why she had done all this, he never found out, for one day, two or three years after they had first met, she had simply vanished. By then, Perpenna's lust for cruelty had been dented by his burgeoning lust for power, and the services of a slave-Kindred like Marcus had become more valuable to his purposes than whatever tortures he could invent. His searches never discovered anything as to her fate, whether she'd simply moved on or been slain, nor had he ever met a single other Kindred who had even met her. Lacking a name, he'd come in his mind to simply calling her Ceres. There was, to this day, a part of him that wondered if he might not have stumbled, by accident, on the truth.

And then he had awoken into this degenerate age, to find that not only were the Salubri extinct, indeed, they were now nefas to every Kindred clan in known existence, but that their place had been taken among the clans by a group of hedge wizards-turned-vampire mystery cult known collectively as the "Tremere". What circumstances had led to this result, Marcus had no way of untangling. Rumors of Salburi malfeasance, soul-devouring being the least of them, were still in circulation. A thousand years was a long time, and he was hardly anything resembling an expert on the Salubri, but the seemingly casual extermination of the clan to which his unknown benefactor had belonged left a bitter taste that did not go away. And he was not inclined to believe the self-serving claims of a clan of sorcerers as to why they had all deserved it.

All this ran through Marcus' mind as he considered the Flemish merchant before him. Unbidden the thought came to mind. 'Where were you when the Salubri were murdered?' It had not happened that long ago as Kindred reckoned the years, and the Tremere were, even by Kindred standards, a famously insular bunch. Yet if this man had raised hand against the Salubri, what of it to Marcus, ultimately? His benefactor lived a thousand years ago, and it was as unlikely that she had survived to modern times as it was that Perpenna had. Moreover, even if she had, she would have been a methuselah now, of terrifying power, well beyond the ken of a local merchant-kindred. If this man were a Tremere elder capable of bringing her down, he would already know it. Such Kindred did not claim a second-rate slum as their demesne, nor walk the streets at night interesting themselves in the affairs of mortals.

Still, Tremere were a caution, as any clan rumored (or known) to engage in Diablerie ought be, to say nothing of any Vampires who wielded sorcery. Such few of them as he had encountered thus far had not endeared themselves or their clan to him. And this one seemed awfully interested in who Marcus was and what he was doing here. That much was not so strange, child-vampires were reasonably rare, but he would have to be cautious regardless. He had not come all the way to Constantinopolis just to have some upstart usurper put a spell on him.

"Perhaps not," said Marcus at length, eying the sorcerer-vampire carefully. "But I have known Kindred who would devour the clients of another merely to watch the reaction. I am not here to challenge demesnes or rights, but..." how best to phrase this... "but if they come to harm from any such Kindred, I will retaliate."

Not the strongest threat ever, but this was not a moment for full-on Roman threat-making. Most Kindred viewed it as laughable anyway.

At his side, Noemi stirred in her imposed sleep, sliding forward on the uneven stones to lay her head on Marcus' lap. Gently, he laid one hand on her head, looking down at her with an empty expression. "I must take her home, and then feed myself," he said before raising his eyes once more. "If this is your demesne, I will hunt elsewhere. How far do you claim?"

Of course, Marcus had no intention of accepting the Usurper's claim at face value. But equally, there was no reason to be overtly antagonistic.

_________________Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

"Indeed, Andrianus, that was my question as well," Lydia added. "While I had know you claimed territory, the boundaries were not made known to me. As it seems it may abut my own grounds, I would be remiss if I did not give you your full due."

"While young Marcus returns his ward to her home, shall we continue your walk?" It was a subtle way to give Marcus his privacy, and to give Adrianus the opportunity to make his claim sure to her. In fact, she was positive that the Tremere would love to impress upon her the boundary of his demense, so she would keep out.

In fact, Lydia had been hunting what she had always known as unclaimed lands near the Severn Wall not far from where her escape tunnel exited. If the Tremere was going to claim all that land for his own, she might have to negotiate fair use with him, without giving away the true reason why she needed it. Annoying, but she did not show her thoughts upon her face. Meanwhile, it gave the child-Vampire a chance to escape, if that was his plan. A tiny favor, but one that she might be able to use some other time.

Whatever the crowd at Ignacio's door expected, for him to shout out and run away as fast as he could was not it. His servants aped their master. The mob was slow to react.

Then the pale youth shouted out in Italian. The mob began to pursue, but they had lost the initiative and they did not know the house. The time cost them. Doors were swung shut and blockaded with furniture. Hot grease from the kitchen spilled across the floor of the great hall, presented a tricky and painful obstacle. The impulse to destroy and pillage warred against hatred and zeal and slowed them further.

Ignacio easily made it to his escape tunnels, as did his most important retainers.

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

“Well goodman Olaf, I will let you return to quietly relieving southmen of their treasures with wisdom and cunning, and when next we meet, I will thank you with a drink and we shall share tales, until then, you have but my words as thanks. May the All-Father watch over you until then,” With a nod and a wave of his hand in farewell, he made his way through the city streets to the Golden Boar, until the waves of salt-swept air began to lose the scents of grime and filth and fill with the fragrances of honey and grapes. His eyes continued to keep swaying about, the hunt having never stopped, the animals of the city starting to change from those of the wilds to those of vermin. Tales he had heard of kinfolk from this far south sharing a kinship with the cliffs of man than the hair of wood, but their reactions would reveal others of his kin less gifted by the All Father’s favor.

The Golden Boar shared enough of his kind to bring a broad grin to the vampire’s lips as he entered. The sounds of Norse and Greek mixed as the night’s drinking filled the tavern. Helgi’s eyes shifted from the hunt to the search for any friendly faces, and of course, more importantly, selling faces. The darker the hair, the less lyrical his words became, but with a hand on one of his pouches, he grinned and walked to holder of the mugs and gazed straight down at him, “Ho, some mead, man, my throat is dry and I have coin for gold.”

"Perhaps not," said Marcus at length, eying the sorcerer-vampire carefully. "But I have known Kindred who would devour the clients of another merely to watch the reaction. I am not here to challenge demesnes or rights, but..." how best to phrase this... "but if they come to harm from any such Kindred, I will retaliate."

"Understood. I find that such antagonism is... foolish. I do not play those sadistic games, there is no gain in it, and all it does is create enemies I dont need. If I have an enemy that needs chastising, I am more inclined to destroy them utterly than sting them with such petty slights." he considered the request. It was afterall only prudent to give some indication as to the boundary.

"I claim an area around my Manse that is 15 ropes* in any one direction from the walls. If you both would like, I can show you the boundaries"

The sunburned northman who was holding forth at the bar looked up at Helgi. "By all the gods you're a big bastard ain't ye? You've come to the right place." He poured a large mug. He touched his long mustache. "The bristles are more silver than gold, but the old boar still has life."

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Finishing his work at the Great Palace, Erik sighed with an air of finality. With any luck, that would be all he had to do tonight. Preparing himself for a night on the town, Erik thought of where he would want to go. It had been some time since he had seen his men, and this time of night, there were precious few places they would be. It was still good to go out and see his comrades, to remind them that he was still there, and that he was still their leader. Dressing appropriately for the occasion, Erik made his way out of the Great Palace and towards the Golden Boar. Not exactly the nicest of places, but the Varangian were not always the nicest of people.

Obviously the so-called wizard had not understood her the first time. "Yes, I would like that, so we both know where the boundaries lie... but let us allow Postumus to take his ward home, hmm?"

Adrianus saw her insistence for what it was, an attempt to draw him away from Marcus, and prevent him from learning the identity of the girl's mother.

A charitable interpretation would be to consider all of the things he might do to strike at Marcus through his clients, and given that Adrianus was himself a vampire and not to be trusted, someone who actually cared might seek to avoid that. Hell, if the woman actually had uses other than a living larder, he might consider it should the necessity arise. He also might consider doing so in order to deny an enemy their most reliable source of blood. Marcus however was not an enemy, and his insistence on not only the security of his food supply, but on the safety of his clients for his own sake made him someone to be courted as an ally, rather than alienated, as he has a strong interest in the security of Adrianus' own demesne. This was a fairly simple calculus. Moreover, Adrianus simply did not engage in cruelty for the sake of reveling in the darkness of his soul like many other Kindred. He preferred a more clinical approach, and even if he had no particular interest in Marcus, there was no gain in making an enemy of him. Marcus had no way of knowing that, of course.

Of course, he also had no way of knowing Lydia's intent, and was not himself inclined to assume that the intentions of a greek noble toward a peasant woman or for that matter a foreign-merchant-tremere were particularly pleasant or morally upright. Adrianus had more trust in the good intentions of the first estate than he did the second--which was saying something. Still, knowing of the trap is the first step to avoiding being caught in it, so the best course of action would simply be to run with it.

"I know you would m'Lady. I was accepting your suggestion, and extending the offer to Marcus. It need no be accepted now. I suspect he will visit this area regularly." he turned to the 'boy', such as he was.

"I realize you have no reason to trust my intentions. I would not either if I were you" he said, with a glance over in Lydia's direction, indicating he did not trust hers "but it is a risk you must weigh. I cannot guarantee that I will not feed on someone if I do not know who they are. If you deem that risk more acceptable than my acting against you, the choice is yours. This token.." he removed a small carved token bearing his seal from a pouch inside his sleeve, and offered it to Marcus."...grants you safe conduct through my Demesne. My men will not impede you if you present it to them, provided they do not observe you hunting in the area, or feeding on your client in public as I cannot instruct them to disregard it for the obvious reasons. It also expedites entrance to my Manse should you wish to contact me in person. Consider it the gesture of good will that it is. You need not accept, I will not consider declination to be offensive as there are obvious trust issues with a sorcerer presenting you with a possession, but it would make your life easier."

_________________"Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution."- Theodosius Dobzhansky

There is no word harsh enough for this. No verbal edge sharp and cold enough to set forth the flaying needed. English is to young and the elder languages of the earth beyond me. ~Frigid

There was some game at work here that Marcus did not understand. For all Adrianus' fine words, he had the unmistakable feeling that he was somehow being played, though he could not, for the life of him, work out how that was possible. That said, other Kindred tended to react... oddly... around him, and he knew it. The mere existence of a child-vampire was an uncomfortable reminder to many of the fundamental monstrousness of their existence, which led some Kindred to react with hostility and dismissal, and others with exaggerated, feigned kindness, as though attempting to convince themselves of their own nobility. He was no stranger to any of it.

That said, these two Kindred seemed to be at least cordially non-hostile, and that was something to cultivate if fortune and Dignitas permitted. It was not generally speaking a good policy to take items from strange Kindred, particularly sorcerous ones. Nor was it in keeping with Marcus' usual policy to accept tokens of safe conduct from anyone. He did not require Adrianus' permission to exist, nor was he inclined to look favorably upon Kindred or men who made a habit of accosting or harassing small children if they did not possess the proper pass. But at the same time, there was a line between being Roman and simply being difficult for its own sake, and there was something to be said for not crossing it. Nothing said he had to use this little safe passage thing after all.

Gingerly, Marcus reached up and took the token, turning it over in his fingers before sliding it into a small scrip pouch at his side. Having done so, he gently hefted Noemi, picking her up with both arms as she dozed in and out of sleep. Nodding silently to each of the other Kindred in turn, his stare as intense as ever, Marcus carefully backed into one of the myriad alleys that lined the Latin quarter, disappearing into the shadows, before finally turning and walking away.

Maybe they would follow him, and maybe they had no need to. But he had bigger concerns now than the propriety of Kindred.

_________________Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

Lydia watched Postumus carry his ward into the shadows, and fully expected him to vanish into them as only one of his Clan could. Thus, she let him go, instead turning and walking a few paces down the street in the direction of de Brugge's boundaries. "Well, shall we go?" she asked him over her shoulder, giving him little choice as she continued her leisurely walk.

As soon as he joined her, she asked conversationally. "You do not expect him to actually come to your door, do you. He has spent many years on his own, and is as wary as any other street-child."

He went beside her as she walked, listened to her question and responded back after Marcus was no longer in earshot.

"Not immediately no. However I would prefer to keep those who have a legitimate interest in this region pleasantly disposed to me. The reality is, he will be coming into this area often, and given that for some reason, I trust his honor and intentions, I would rather be a potential ally than a threat. Time will tell if he has any further contact with me, and time will tell if our interests are aligned such that a mutually beneficial arrangement can be arrived at. He who would succeed can wait--and I am nominally immortal."

As the pair and their retinue approached the Golden Horn and a group of warehouses near a dock, Adrianus stopped. "This warehouse are mine. Beyond it my territory ends on the northern side"

_________________"Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution."- Theodosius Dobzhansky

There is no word harsh enough for this. No verbal edge sharp and cold enough to set forth the flaying needed. English is to young and the elder languages of the earth beyond me. ~Frigid

"Ah, good news indeed," Lydia replied to Adrianus. "There is a good half-rope between this and the start of my territory." To her, it was good news indeed, for her emergency exit was still safely outside anyone's claimed demense. "I sometimes hunt in the area between," she continued, head tilting towards the Tremere, although not meeting his eyes. Never meet the eyes of a sorcerer or a witch -- this peasant superstition had good reason behind it. Lydia followed many of the old superstitions for the truth behind them.

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